


Socket

by sleep



Series: What do you mean I have to "follow the prompt"? [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleep/pseuds/sleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whirl annoys Cylonus, and Cyclonus reacts in a violent manner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socket

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for a request at the kink meme: http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=15228565#t15228565  
> I am afraid it is a bit short, but I hope you like it anyway.  
> Includes non-con and eye-socket fragging.  
> Enjoy!

Whirl was in a good mood that day. And for Cyclonus, that meant having the annoying copter following him around, making his best effort of pissing the surly mech off. Whirl was currently doing a terrible, high-pitched, impression of Tailgate, making a screeching “But Cylonusss!” echo through the corridors.  
  
It must have come as no surprise when Cyclonus finally snapped, shoving the single-opticed mech against the wall, but Whirl let out a surprised squawk anyway. Cylonus held him up, hissing ancient curses at the mech, only dropping him when Whirl's claws stung painfully into his armour.  
  
The blue mech crashed painfully down onto the ground, and before he had time to come with any further snide comments, he felt a fist collide with his 'face'.  
  
Whirl heard fragments of his optic shatter down his frame and all over the surrounding floor, while the delicate wiring and severed nerves started stinging like the pit. Deprived of vision, Whirl could no longer see what the ancient warrior was doing, but the sound of a cover retracting was unmistakable.  
  
It soon became obvious what the cover in question had been covering; the thick shaft forcing its way into the hole where his optic used to be could only be a spike.  
  
Whirl flailed and attempted to distance himself, but the owner of the spike grabbed a hold of the back of his head, holding it in place, and kicked his spindly legs so they were dislocated. Whirl – who had no mouth anyway – spat curses and threats mixed with pleads of mercy at Cyclonus, whose only response was letting his free hand crush around Whirl's neck, effectively silencing him.  
  
Whirl still garbled static as Cyclonus went back to focusing on his spike, which was partly inserted into the remains of Whirl's optic. With a sudden movement of his hips, he thrust his spike far into Whirl's cylindrical head, brushing past aching nerve-endings and broken wires.  
  
The purple mech moved back, and thrust again. A few droplets of prefluid trickled from his spike's head, and when the liquid connected with the sparking wires, it sent shocks of pleasure through Cyclonus' body, and shocks of pain through Whirl's. Enticed, he retracted and slammed in again with added vigor, making Whirl jolt at the impact.  
  
The following thrusts ripped up the network that had been connected to Whirl's optic bit by bit, each plunge punctuated by an insult or curse directed at the copter. Whirl felt his limbs go limp as he gave in to the mech ravaging his eye-socket, who took the opportunity to release Whirl's head, leaving it free to slam into the wall with each thrust.  
  
Waves of pain filled Whirl's mind as he was smashed from both the inside and outside, the presence above him only registered in his mind as a series of ragged breaths and hissed swearwords accompanied with pain. An especially hard thrust evidently sent Cyclonus into an overload, his transfluid surging into Whirl's socket, sending sparks between them and spilling out, running down Whirl's chest.  
  
Cyclonus remained inside until he was done releasing transfluid, at which point he pulled out and let Whirl collapse onto himself. Whirl heard the sound of a panel closing followed by footsteps receding, and with that he was left alone in the hallway, cold transfluid slowly drying on his plating.  
  
The blinded copter shambled up to a standing position, and began groping his way to his quarters, his head held low and leaving a trail of transfluid in his wake as he limped slowly through the corridor.

 


End file.
